T.r.a.s.h. - To File For Chapter 11

Reviews

Tanztornado aus Holland wirbelt durch Bremen

Nach zweijähriger Zwangspause feiert "Tanz Bremen" mit Erstaufführungen glanzvolle Auferstehung.

"T.R.A.S.H." nennt sich die junge Compagnie aus dem holländischen Tilburg, die, zum ersten Mal in Deutschland zu Gast, beim "Festival Tanz Bremen" wie ein Tornado über die Bühne des Neuen Schauspielhauses hereinbrach. Eine Lawine aus geschleuderten Körpern, ausgestoßenen Schreien und fluchenden Wortsalven. Zwei Frauen und vier Männer gehen sich gegenseitig an den Kragen oder rennen gegen Wände, an deren hochragenden, glatten, sauberen Fassaden sie immer wieder abrutschen.

Ein stimmiges Bild für die Ohnmacht in einer Gesellschaft von Selbstsucht, zielt der Titel des Stücks "To File for Chapter 11" doch auf die Lücken im amerikanischen Bankrottgesetz, die es den Reichen und Mächtigen erlauben, das eigene Vermögen vor dem Ruin in Sicherheit zu bringen. Höchst virtuos setzt das international besetzte Ensemble um die Choreografin Kristel van Issum auf riskanten Körpereinsatz, verbindet eine Vielzahl zeitgenössischer Tanztechniken zu einer konsequent widersprüchlichen Sprache aus Akrobatik und Charakterstudie, aus wütender Energie, Witz und Verführung.

Dieser Tanz, der wie eine europäische Antwort auf das amerikanische Krumpin' wirkt, stößt sein Publikum nicht vor den Kopf. Dafür sorgen allein die klare feste Sopranstimme von Hannah Morrison und das Cellospiel von Jaqueline Hamelink, die in Arthur van der Kuips und Jeroen Strijbos' zwischen Jazz und Klassik changierendem musikalischen Konzept Hysterie und Lamento wunderbar in sich vereinen. Von T.R.A.S.H. wird man sicher noch hören.

Irma Kästner 11.03.2008

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Denis Bonneville 01.07.2007

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Scenes T.r.a.s.h.
Des personages á la dérive

Pas de répit pour le chaos : la compagnie néerlandaise T.R.A.S.H. livre des performances énergiques et torturées, dont on sort revigoré.

Les interprêtes de la compagnie néerlandaise T.R.A.S.H. ne connaissent pas le répit. Sur scène, ils se cognent, roulent, boulent , tombent, s'envoient valdinguer dans les airs, se flanquent spontannément ou mutuellement contre les murs… Vous avez dit violence ? Curieusement, on peut sortir déphasé, mais presque revigoré, d'une de leurs performances furieusement énergiques. Garçons et filles à la dérive, les personnages se débattent visiblement avec leur propre chaos intérieur. Peut-être n'ont-ils pas le choix… Toujours est-il qu'ils ne se résignent pas, foncent droit devant, marmonnent ou s'apostrophent par bribes absurdes, se laissent empoigner sans jamais se départir d'un air de détermination ou d'un sourire "ultrabright". Recettes d'une compagnie au pouvoir exutoire. (…)

Métissage.
Sorti de la scèn rock alternative, le noyau dur, composé d’une choréographe (Kristel van Issum), d’un musicien-compositeur (Arthur van de rKuip) et d’un scénographe (Paul van Weert), fait appel à des danseurs, des comédiens et des acrobates aux gueules bien trempées, qui parlent chacun leur langue sur le plateau (anglais, français, allemand, portugais…).

Impro-répétition.
Kristel Van Issum a une manière bien à elle de diriger des improvisations à bas de livres (1984, d'Orwell), d'images, de rêves d'inconscient, d'instinct et d'histoires absurdes : " Elle est capable de nous dire : vous êtes dans un supermarché et des extraterrestres se lancent dans une attaque terrroriste tandis que vous tombez amoureux d'une bouteille de lait"; rapporte la danseuse Ulrika Kinn Svensson, qui s'est également illustrée chez Platel.

Désynchronisation musicale.
Si Arthur Van der Kuip assiste aux répétitions, il se garde bien d'y dévoiler ses compositions aux interprètes, et de calquer sa musique sur leur frénésie de mouvement. De fait, il écrit de lancinantes partitions entre classique et contemporain (violoncelle et voix soprano pour la dernière création du groupe ): "Plus le contraste est grand, plus on raconte des choses."

Cathy Blisson 07.03.2007

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T.r.a.s.h. in The Netherlands

Anticipation is an odd creature, especially when it is fuelled by the press.

Opinions take root in your mind, tarnishing all that you see. With this unsettling affliction I attended a performance of T.R.A.S.H; a dance group which has been described by the national press as ‘punk’, ‘aggressive’ and ‘violent’; characterizations which left a deep impression on me.
Before the performance commenced I sat in the café of the theatre and contemplated the performance flyer: To File for Chapter 11… chaotic… explosive … confusion… instinct… frenetic. I braced myself for a heavy evening.

A little over an hour later I was standing in the cold Amsterdam air, both exhilarated and pummelled by what I had witnessed. Here was a modern appraisal of the human condition, blemished only somewhat by its ceaseless physical intensity.

The press was merely reacting to the surface of T.R.A.S.H.

To File for Chapter 11 is a work that contains a plurality of meanings. At its very core lies the realization that the identity of mankind is divided, that the ‘I’ we all speak of is a fractured mirror. The violence or aggression that so many claim to witness in the dances of T.R.A.S.H is merely the physical expression of a mind frustrated by its own lack of a stable identity. God is dead here: supplications are choked, consciousness is enraged. The body, represents the final impaired frontier.

Each dancer engages with the cacophony of voices within him, posturing, confessing, muttering, screaming, trying to grasp something concrete which might afford peace. Kristel van Issum, who largely choreographed the piece is acutely aware that modern life has made us all prone to a unique form of schizophrenia. In this context the dancers continually fall to the floor with a manic determination; a form of self injury perhaps, which underscores the inescapable presence of the body which jails a disturbed mind.

The rational is exiled here; this is the realm of nightmarish dualism, the mind waging war on the body and vice versa. All is primal form: alienated human beings struggling with shards of memory, trauma and co-existence; life unsettles them.

Human association is fractured. The six dancers -four of them male- hurl the females with indifference, the latter expressing emotions ranging from apathy to arousal. Any fragile instance of attachment is immediately extinguished by a brutish series of motions.

It is fascinating to consider the title in light of all that one witnesses on stage: ‘Chapter 11’ refers to the bankruptcy code of the U.S.A. Bankruptcy; but of what, of whom? Tantalizing questions indeed. Have we ourselves become impoverished or has our capacity to identify with others become ruined? Each may decide for himself. One thing is certain, the idea of destitution resonates throughout the work; words become incomprehensible, movement becomes irregular and spasmodic, emotions snarl like rabid dogs. This entire spectacle is framed by a beautiful soprano voice accompanied by a solo cello creating a startling juxtaposition to the frenzied activity we see on stage. It is this musical backdrop that lends the dance its uneasy timelessness, as if we had been transported to a Victorian asylum, the distinguished voyeuristic guests of the local governor.

Here is mankind committed to a veritable Hades, stripped of compassion, doomed to engage in a perpetual conflict with a spiritual vacuum, a dysfunctional mind and an unruly body. One cannot help but gaze in fear and admiration at a performance that does not fail to move you.

Mischa Kroes 03.01.2007

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Limits of the physically achievable

To File for Chapter 11 by T.r.a.s.h. Concept and choreography: Kristel van Issum. Musical composition: Arthur van der Kuip and Jeroen Strijbos. 11/17, Theater De NWE Vorst, Tilburg. Tour

For a moment you think you’ve entered a room of silence and reflection. A man is sitting with bent back towards us. The woman seems to be lost in thought as well, face hidden behind her long red hair. The white grey space breathes emptiness, even when the soprano starts singing. But then, all of a sudden, there is that loud rumble of a body coliding to the floor in full, and that uncontrollable animal cry. This is unmistakably T.r.a.s.h., the young Tilburg dance company that with its raw unpolished productions presents a very characteristic voice.

Like in her previous choreography Pork-in-Loop (2005), Kristel van Issum shows in To File for Chapter 11 a world totally adrift. Her six inspired dancers – Jose Agudo, Brice Desault, Guilherme Miotto, Tegest Pecht Guido, Lucie Petrusová and Alexandre Tissot – have no sense of “stop” or “no”. They throw themselves or each other against walls, wandering on drunken legs or in fact diving aimfully towards the floor. Pushing and pulling, dangling and hanging – there’s a punkish feel to it all, although the light blue pumps and purple sweaters have little to do with that.
Especially the two women, both very slender giving them a girlish presence, are being thrown all over the place by the male dancers. The are being treated as objects. But is this actually a comment, an accusation? After all, very soon you get the uncomfortable feeling that in fact the same goes for the men. The choreographer is playing them just as well. Besides, the women seem to be quite alright with their bodies being thrown about. Or have they merely been beaten to a jelly, these young people that live in a world where (the threat of) violence defines the daily order?
T.r.a.s.h. is obstinate, but pushy as well. The same fatalistic energy from beginning to end. It is a trademark but needs further development; after a certain point you kind of get the point.
Working very well in To File for Chapter 11, and a definite step forward is the dialogue with the music. Vocals and cello succeed in invoking a world at right angles to the dance: as a matter of fact the composition by Arthur van der Kuip and Jeroen Strijbos sounds classical, refined and contemplating. At the same time, and that is an exciting dimension, music and dance are soul mates. The music is about melancholy, regret, death. In this notion of all things eventually coming to an end it traces the dance, that in all its extremity hammers against the limits of the physically achievable and reduces man to lumps of energy and instinct.

Mirjam van der Linden - 20.11.2006

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T.R.A.S.H. drags you into Dante’s Inferno

Monday November 20, 2006 - Tilburg - Is this theatre, or are you watching Man in his true form: brute, the thin sheen of civilisation stripped off and animal, above all animal? This question forces itself as soon as ‘To File for Chapter 11’ commences.

Was T.r.a.s.h. ever present more physical than now? Can it get more violent? How much can a human being – either performer or spectator – endure? Questions that pile up while you’re breathlessly watching one of the most stirring dance performances of these past years. ’To File for Chapter 11’ is the last part of a trilogy, but surpasses the previous episodes in both density, velocity and atrocity.
Again, bodies crashing against walls and floors, dangling through space, heads dangerously close-shaving the sharp wooden edges of the setting and dancers laying in a corner like used cloths. But never before has this happened as overwhelming as in the latest choreography of Kristel van Issum. She drags you along into Dante’s ’Inferno’. The hell you could not imagine before watching ‘To File for Chapter 11’ , but takes shape here in an ominous frenzy. T.r.a.s.h.’s artistic message is as grim as a poison gas attack and strikes deep cuts into your world view. The six performers talk, cry, rasp, scream in a cloud of madness, veiling the choreography like a pantser.
This way the dance company succeeds in visualizing the underworld of the human spirit. What an achievement! T.r.a.s.h., whose artistic core besides Van Issum, exists of composer Arthur van der Kuip and setting designer Paul van Weert, produces unique performances. Although violence is a recurring theme, the triumvirate keeps surprising. This time through the music - written by Arthur van der Kuip and Jeroen Strijbos - as well. The music, very close to classical, is interpreted by female cellist Jacqueline Hamelink and soprano Hannah Morrison, the only ‘but’ of ‘To File for Chapter 11’ hiding in the latter. Against the excessive force of the choreography, Morrisons fraile voice was having difficulties. A bit more power would have elevated the choreography even higher.

Rinus van der Heijden 14.11.2005